


Comfort

by OnceInABlueMoon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Case Fic-ish, Comfort Objects, Dean Winchester Deserves Nice Things, Dean-Centric, Fluff, Gen, Some Swearing, Teddy Bears, but he makes up for it in the end, carnivals, emotional childhood, it makes sense if you read it I promise, mentions of John Winchester - Freeform, mentions of childhood neglect, sam's kind of oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9300566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceInABlueMoon/pseuds/OnceInABlueMoon
Summary: “Whats with the toy man?” Sam’s face pokes out from the bathroom door, his cheeks flushed from his recent shower, hair curling damp around his ears.“What?” Dean says gruffly.“The toy.” Sam gestures with his toothbrush, toothpaste flying and flicking onto the sheets of Dean’s bed. “The teddy bear.”“What about it?”“Why do you have one?”“I played a game at the fair.”“You played a game?” Sam raises a brow, he sounds amused, dimples showing. “And when you won you chose a teddy bear for your prize?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by this post on tumblr:  
> http://thetardismademedoit.tumblr.com/post/152030916755/almaasi-beanmom-motherofcas  
> I just thought Dean deserved something nice and soft and so I wrote this! Let me know if you like it!

The air is balmy and bright and a thin layer of cool sweat clings to the nape of Dean’s neck as he and Sam walk the fair grounds. Grass crunches underfoot, mostly bright green but dead and brown and rotten where the mysterious monster they’re hunting prowled about. Despite that, the grounds are filled to the brim with people, the scent of cotton candy and fried goods blooming on wafts of wind and luring them in. 

“Hold on,” Sam says and Dean raises a brow watching as his brother gestures to a porter potty with a grimace. They’ve faced dirtier than public toilets, the real challenge is will Sam fit, and Dean chuckles at thought of his brother trying to cram himself into the filthy stall, Sam pulling an irritated face as he stalks away. 

Hands in his pockets, Dean survey’s they area around him. In the distance, a Ferris wheel gleams in the dimming afternoon sky. The sound of shrieks and squeals is potent and Dean turns when a booming voice calls “Step right up! Step right up!” and turns to see a portly, smiling, old man with neatly combed hair gesticulating wildly. 

The booth is older, with no fancy tech like the others, but clearly well loved. The awning painted in crimson and yellow stripes. Behind the old man are a series of moving targets, all painted in baby blue and white, scratched from years of use, several “guns” perched on a table facing them a small distance away. When the old man sees Dean staring he waves again and gestures for Dean to walk over. 

Dean smiles politely staying put, but then the man waves again and Dean finds himself walking over anyway. 

“Feel like taking a chance?” He says waving to the guns and then to the rack of prizes up above. “If you hit three targets with the gun you get a prize! Only three dollars. Five bullets.” Dean wants to point out that it’s not much of a challenge for him but says instead: 

“I’m not much of a risk taker.” 

“Oh, I’m not too sure about that!” The man, Steve by his neat metal name tag, says. He winks at Dean like they’re sharing a joke and there’s something about his blue eyes that puts Dean at ease. 

“Well alright.” Dean says shrugging before pulling out a few crumpled bills from his jacket pocket and handing them to Steve “Why not.” 

“Atta boy!” He chatters on about the rules of the game as he sets up. and when he’s ready and clears out the way Dean fires, purposefully missing the first and second targets but nailing the other three. 

“Nice job,” Steve says and stupidly Dean finds himself flushing in pleasure distractedly realising when Steve reaches up to pluck something down. Dean’s prize. 

“It’s fine,” Deans says “I don’t want anything.” But Steve just shoves the toy into Dean’s hands with a shake of his head and then goes onto spiel to a teenage couple and their group of friends who have approached the booth. 

…

Dean goes back to the stalls to find Sam, but Sam is nowhere to be seen. When Dean checks his phone after a mild panic attack, he sees a text from Sam _I got a lead_. Relieved and shoving his phone back in his pocket, Dean looks down to inspect the toy. 

His prize as it turns out is a small chocolate brown bear with a thread black nose and brown fur. It stares up at him with happy, glinting, eyes and Dean snorts, puts it down on a nearby table and begins to walk away. But something tugs at him, the memory of feeling something gentle brushing against him whilst he panicked and he finds himself going back to pluck up the bear while looking about. Tucking the stuffed animal under his arm like a football he ambles back towards the Impala. 

…

“Whats with the toy man?” Sam’s face pokes out from the bathroom door, his cheeks flushed from his recent shower, hair curling damp around his ears. 

“What?” Dean says gruffly. 

“The toy.” Sam gestures with his toothbrush, toothpaste flying and flicking onto the sheets of Dean’s bed. “The teddy bear.” 

“What about it?” 

“Why do you have one?” 

“I played a game at the fair.” 

“You played a game?” Sam raises a brow, he sounds amused, dimples showing. “And when you won you chose a teddy bear for your prize?” 

“I didn’t choose anything.” Dean growls, he realizes Sam’s just teasing but finds his hackles raising anyway “They guy just gave it to me and told me to shove off okay? Why do you care? What’s the big deal?” He’s ranting, voice raising and when he’s done Sam blinks hazel eyes wide and glistening. 

“It’s not.” He says a crease forming between his brows. “Dean,” he begins and oh god he’s using that soft coaxing voice he uses on victims families “It’s okay if you-” 

_thud. thud._

“Yo! Did somebody order a pizza?”

Dean stands up then, wallet in hand and opens the door for the delivery guy, taking the pizza without a word and paying him before shutting the door. He sets down the steaming box on the small table, nudging research books and Sam’s computer out of the way. 

“Just drop it okay?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says tone normal, cheese dribbling down his chin where he’s already devoured a slice of pizza “okay.” 

…

“Oh my god!” The woman, Sharon, is shaking like a leaf as Dean ushers her inside the motel room. “Oh my god!” She’s a mess, twigs clinging to her hair, daughter wailing in her arms, the four-year-olds pink pajamas covered in dried mud and flecks of god knows what. “What was that?” she’s horrified “What on earth was that?” 

“It’s going to be alright,” Sam says there’s a cut on his brow that’s going to be a bitch to clean, and Dean’s shirt is soaked in monster goo, jeans ripped and bloodied. “We took care of everything you’re safe now.” 

In Sharon’s arms, her little girl Emily begins to wail, shrieking in earnest now and Dean moves hurriedly. Motel walls are particularly thin and the last thing they need is the manager to come investigate and see two burly men covered in blood hovering over a hysterical woman and child. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Sam says to Emily but she just screams shrilly again causing Dean to jerk back, yanking the first aid kit out of his duffle, the bear he stuffed in their earlier falling to the floor mutedly. 

For a moment he thinks about standing by the picnic tables and panicking over Sam, remembers the brush of fake fur against his palm and without thinking he’s across the room and kneeling before the little girl, presenting her with the bear. 

Emily quiets, sniffing and reaches out a tiny hand looking at Dean with wet eyes. 

“Go on.” Dean says, nudging the stuffed toy into her small hand “Take him.” 

Emily nods and tugs the bear close and Dean sees Sharon relax as her daughter calms down. Sam cleaning the cut on her throat easily now. 

Dean watches Emily’s eyes droop as she cuddles the bear close and his heart gives a painful twist. 

…

“Thank you,” Sharon says, finally breaking the silence that had fallen over them as they drove her and her daughter home. She cradles Emily’s small sleeping form close and slips out of the car. “Really thank you.” Despite the fact that her hair is greasy and her face is all torn she looks pretty in that soft motherly way now that she’s relaxed some. 

“Don’t mention it,” Sam says, smiling in the passenger seat despite the exhaustion in his voice. Sharon nods once tightly, clearly ready to put this behind her. Yeah, Dean doesn’t think she’ll be sharing this at book club anytime soon. Sharon turns to move up the driveway then, Emily’s face pillowed on her collarbone, one hand clamped around the stuffed bear where it hangs precariously over Sharon’s shoulder. 

“Oh here.” Sharon moves to take the toy from her sleeping daughter and hand it back through the window of the Impala but Dean waves her off. “It’s fine.” He says. Men don’t need toys he thinks in a voice that sound suspiciously like his father’s. 

Sharon’s eyes soften fractionally then. “Thank you.” She says again and after she locks her and her daughter safely inside, Dean takes off down the road. _It doesn’t matter_ Dean thinks as he drives pedal to the metal, chest constricted and tight. Next to him, Sam drifts off to sleep and is snoring within minutes. It doesn’t fucking matter, Dean knows that, but, it feels like it does. 

...

Despite the fact that all Dean wants to do is sleep the day away the morning after they get back to the bunker, he still rolls out of bed, takes a shower and heads into town. He and Sam need to stock up on painkillers, and there’s a new chicken fried steak recipe he wants to try and he needs special seasoning for it. 

The grocery shopping takes a couple hours. He goes the butchers, gets some veggies to appease Sam and then comes home ready to fall face first into his pillows and sleep the day away, his back aching. Once the groceries are put away in the fridge and Dean’s hands smell like greens he goes to do just that when something causes him to stop short in the doorway of his room. 

Everything is just the same as he left it. Records in place, the picture of his mother resting on his desk, guns on display, but there, on his military made bed nestled between his pillows is a fucking teddy bear. 

For a moment Dean feels rage, embarrassment, _whatever you want to call it_ run through him. He walks over to his bed and plucks up the bear, ready to dump it in the trash but something makes Dean pause. And then, he's holding the bear close tucking his face against its fur. It brushes against his stubbled cheek. It’s nice. 

_I’m still gonna yell at Sam_ Dean thinks _but maybe after a nap_. 

He gets the best night’s sleep of his life.

He never yells at Sam. 

…

A few months later, Christmas comes. Dawning cold and crisp in Lebanon, the sky the color of spilled milk. They put decorations up, well Dean does, while Sam bitches about at his “stylistic choices” ( _”Because you’re a real Martha Stewart huh Sammy?"_ ) They don’t exchange gifts. Not dying for each other is enough. And after they clear up they each head off to bed. 

Dean closes his eyes and then opens them. Turns on his bedside lamp. Sure enough, there’s his teddy bear, but this time it’s wearing a crimson and emerald green bowtie. It’s plaid. 

…

A few days later Sam stumbles into his room with a yawn. 

Sitting on the rumpled sheets of his bed is a teddy bear. It’s cream colored and has a leather jacket. 

His smile lasts for days.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr @ http://thetardismademedoit.tumblr.com/


End file.
